


Feuer Frei!

by KarlaSchmidt



Category: Die Hard
Genre: Arson, F/M, Nakatomi Heist, Pre-Nakatomi Heist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-12-24 18:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12018396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarlaSchmidt/pseuds/KarlaSchmidt
Summary: One of the most famous arsonists in Moscow, Vitalie Prokofiev is visited one day by a man named Hans Gruber; and the plan he has in mind will either make her career or end her life.





	1. The Apartment in Moscow

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo Menschen! In memory of Alan Rickman, here is the first chapter of my Die Hard fanfiction. Just to clear up any issues, the KGB were still in operation at the time of Die Hard. They disbanded in 1991. Thanks for reading, please comment to let me know what you think.  
> Love, Karla

Fading with the distance, the fire alarms grew fainter and fainter until the twenty-year-old could barely hear them. Powdery snow like sugar drifted down from the ebony night sky, and settled in her raven hair, which had been tucked back into her fire-proof jacket. She staggered along the moonlit road, wincing with each step which put pressure on her right leg, until she had reached the downtown block of grimy flats where her cramped apartment was located. Quietly as possible, she fumbled with her keys, the excited pounding of her heart drumming in her ears, and unlocked the door, which was peppered with several bullet holes. The ice-cold concrete floor was marred with foot-prints where the builders had carelessly trodden in the wet cement, and every time she hobbled along, her boots thumped heavily, snow flaking off them and onto the floor.

When she was in her room, she drew and latched the numerous metal bolts and chains barricading her away from the outside world. Finally out of danger, she dropped down heavily onto her bed and carefully toed off her boots so as to avoid moving her right leg much. This failed, and the gash stung painfully as it brushed against the material of her trousers. Wincing, she lifted her hips up to help her escape them, edging the fabric over the cut. Once she was left in her socks and panties, the girl surveyed the wound; it was deep, blood welling up in it every minute or so, which ran down her leg and onto her socks, staining the thick material a bright crimson, some of which had already faded to maroon. Sighing, she hopped into her cramped bathroom, and yanked open the door to the medicine cabinet on the wall. Well, one could barely call it a cabinet - a wooden box stuck to the wall summed it up perfectly. Gathering an armful of various supplies, she limped back into the main room and dropped down onto her single bed. After cleaning the area with an antibacterial wipe which stung like the fires of Hell, the girl threaded a needle and began to stitch together the cut, haphazardly in pattern but succeeding in keeping it closed. No sooner had she finished wrapping around her leg an iodine-soaked bandage, her battered phone began to sound with the ringtone of 'Feuer und Wasser'. Growling and rolling her eyes, she answered the call swiftly. Before she could speak, the other person praised: "Good one, Prokofiev. You have not disappointed - those flames must have reached at least thirty feet." Quickly, Miss Prokofiev composed herself, as this was a client and aloofness was not appreciated by the wealthy, snobbish 'customers' that she served. "Thank you, Sir." Over time, she had learned that mentioning the matter of payment right off the bat was a surefire way to lose some money; her customers liked the illusion that they were the ones in control. However, in reality if anyone crossed Vitalie Prokofiev, sooner or later they would burn. "But of course, you will be expecting your money. I'll have someone deliver it to you - and if there's anything missing from the forty thousand, don't hesistate to inform me." Although Vitalie regularly received such large sums of money for single contracts, the majority of it was spent on equipment and keeping the transactions in confidence. Therefore, she lived in the crowded, back-to-back apartments in downtown Moscow; also, this aided her immensely in avoiding capture from the KGB and Politsiya.

"Thank you, sir. If you are ever in need of my services again, all it takes is a call." With that, Vitalie hung up the phone, and tossed it to the foot of her bed. Sighing once more, she got up and limped over to turn off the switch of the naked lightbulb. It flickered and the dim light died, plunging the apartment into darkness as deep as the night outside. As she hopped back to bed, she stumbled over a pile of old shirts on the floor and almost smacked into the bedpost. Once she was in bed (accompanied by blatant cursing), she cocooned herself into the thin duvet for protection from the freezing temperature. So great was the irony that her entire life revolved around setting fire to things, and yet here she was in a dingy room completely unprotected from the bitter cold of the Russian winter, Vitale chuckled at herself. For a while, she simply lay in silence, rubbing her feet together in a futile attempt to create heat. Sometimes she wondered why she didn't move out of this hell-hole; until the thought which was a constant companion throughout the four years she had been an arsonist returned to her slightly warped brain. Flames were her friends... they were all she needed. In truth, the money mattered little to Vitalie (except for its function in procuring her equipment). Since she was sixteen years old, the girl had loved to watch the flames dance as they consumed all that was thrown into their path. The ideology that the best way to get rid of a problem was to burn it had proven true for her on multiple occasions... all the problems simply disappeared. Including those of the human variety.

Peaceful silence was broken as 'Feuer und Wasser' rang out in the pitch-black room again. Groaning in annoyance, Vitalie reached out of the duvet to grasp the phone, cringing as the cold air hit her arm like a knife - immediately stealing away all of the slight warmth she had accumulated under the covers. Without checking the number, she answered simply with: "Prokofiev." Seconds later, a smooth, baritone voice replied; however, this hardly piqued her interest (the majority of her clients being suave businessmen, or something of that kind). "Good evening, Miss Prokofiev," For a heart-stopping second, the twenty-year-old wondered if this guy was a KGB agent undercover... Usually, her work was simple. Get a call, or note; do the job, receive payment. However, the consistent success (unbroken except by minor scrapes such as her leg tonight) could not be relied upon as a reason to be careless. "My name is Hans Gruber, and I have a proposition for you."


	2. Arrival in the City of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo Menschen! Just a quick thank you for reading and sticking with Feuer Frei!. Also, I'd like to give AlanRickmanFan27 a mention for their lovely comments - they motivated me to get to work on this chapter, so vielen dank! If you want, please comment to let me know what you think. :) Next one might be a while because I have a BioShock fanfiction I need to work on - Sander Cohen/OC!  
> Love, Karla

Hans Gruber dragged his hefty suitcase behind him with a graceful ease as he made his way through the main airport at Moscow. Somewhere in this city was the final piece (hopefully) of the jigsaw which was the group raiding the Nakatomi Plaza. All he knew about her was that she lived in a slum area, her name - and after some digging on the deep web courtesy of Theo - her phone number. If all went to plan in this stage, that should suffice. Presenting his passport complete with one of his many false IDs to the lady behind the counter, he watched lazily as she scrutinized it. Hans could tell she was attracted to him... this was nothing new. Dilated pupils, batting of eyelids, deliberately swayed hips while walking - he had seen it all. The way she shifted in her seat, how she messed coquettishly with one of her dark brown curls told him everything. "Спасибо" He said to her as she handed his passport back, voice baritone and silky as always; the fact that he could have sworn he heard her sigh softly made him chuckle slightly as he exited the area. As soon as he was outside in the bustling street, Hans strode on through the frosty streets as naturally as his skilful and experienced character could. To any observing pedestrian or even undercover KGB agent, he would have blended in perfectly with anyone else moving through the crowded street with comfort uncommon in tourists. However his at ease façade hid a watchful and observant man who never let his guard down, ready to defend himself at a moment's notice. In addition, his strongly carved features allowed him to blend in even more. Hans travelled the short distance to the upper-class hotel where he was staying - for money was no issue for a man like Hans Gruber.

Once he had checked into his room and left the foyer which held a cloying sent of cologne, Hans sat down in one of the plush armchairs, whipped out his mobile phone and removed the neatly folded piece of paper - on which he had written the girl's phone number in elegant script - from his suit jacket pocket. Night had fallen and the few descending snowflakes from a few minutes ago were coming thick and fast until the outside world was obscured by a mass of whirling white flakes. Sighing slightly from fatigue, he dialled the number and waited for a response. At length, he heard a female's deep voice with a heavy accent answer only, "Prokofiev." He was at least glad that Theo had provided him with the correct number. By her manner of introducing herself, he could tell that she liked to get straight to the point - as far as work was concerned anyway. This suited him, for Hans found it extremely irksome to have to work with people who idly sailed around a subject or couldn't be bothered to work properly. "Good evening, Miss Prokofiev," Replied Hans, polite business-like tone in place. "My name is Hans Gruber, and I have a proposition for you."

Silence greeted him for a while until she finally answered, "I'm listening."  
"Some associates and I are planning a... transaction of sorts with the company of Nakatomi. Perhaps you have heard of it? Back to my point, I had learned of your affinity for arson. After some thought, I decided that you would make an asset to my group." Employing flattery was one of Hans' rarely used tactics (due to his fixed superiority complex), and anyone who knew him well would know that he was merely manipulating - however, he assumed that it would work on Vitalie. From what he heard, she was in her early to mid twenties; besides, most women practically fell at his feet as soon as he dropped a few compliments. "I'm afraid I'll need more details than that please, Mr. Gruber."  
She was having none of it, he knew. Interesting. "Apologies, Miss Prokofiev, but I cannot disclose such information over a phone. If it would be possible for us to arrange a meeting at some point in the next few days, I would be glad to give you all the details you wish." Again, silence met his ears. Hans wondered now if she would accept. The heist would of course still go on if she refused, though they would be missing a potentially valuable ally. For without Vitalie's arsenal of explosives and fire based products, acquiring such firepower would be much more difficult than necessary. Hans had even heard tell of a home-constructed flamethrower. "Alright. Tomorrow, the third alley on Lower Sun Street. Eleven a.m. Provided that suits you, of course." Smirking in pride, Hans replied instantaneously, "That is perfect, thank you Miss Prokofiev. Good night." With that, he hung up the phone.

*************************************************************************************

The next morning, Vitalie woke up, her black hair a bird's nest, and checked on her leg. Blood had seeped through the bandage a little in one place but the stitches, haphazard as they were, should have stopped the worst of the bleeding. After she endured an ice-cold shower, since there wasn't really a boiler to speak of in her apartment, she put on new underwear, jeans and a sweater. Her meeting with - what was his name? - Hans Gruber... wasn't until eleven, and that was an hour and a half away. Shrugging to herself, Vitalie applied some eyeliner, slipped her heavy leather boots on and grabbed her coat. Today both looked and felt chilly, as usual; however, the sun occasionally peered out from behind the pearl-grey clouds to illuminate the frost-coated streets of Moscow. Fingers nifty with practice, she unlocked the many bolts and chains barring entry or exit from the outside world and stepped out into the dingy hallway outside her room. 

Feeling reassured by the fact that her boots had thick steel caps, she pulled the hood of her trench coat further over her head. Despite this being a common sight throughout the downtown streets, Vitalie still felt that she stood out like a beacon, attempting to hide her discomfort whenever she saw someone ahead of her. Hopefully he would come... somehow it seemed like Gruber wasn't the type to travel through these sort of neighbourhoods. A light dusting of snow which seemed ever-present on the ground crunched under her boots as she travelled through the streets, checking her old mobile every so often, as being late was never a good first impression. Thankfully, she still had an hour. She sighed at the amount of time to kill... as there was nothing to do, Vitalie supposed that she could take a quick look at the damage caused by her escapade last night. Resolving to stay hidden as best she could from the Politsiya who would undoubtedly be present, she set off for the twenty storey office block which had been reduced to a blackened shell. As she recalled, last night's client had wished for a rival company to be eliminated, and she was all too happy to douse the first few floors in ethanol and simply strike a match on her way out through a vent. The rest would take care of itself. Smiling as she reminisced, Vitalie, attempting to hide her limp as best she could, continued walking for the next half an hour. Later on, she peered round the corner of the street adjacent to last night's conquest, grinning at the still smoking remains. For a minute or so she remained watching the Politsiya milling around the scene, until she noticed one turn suddenly in her direction. "дерьмо!" She cursed profusely, stepping back from her corner and retreating down the street, occasionally taking a detour down an alley in order to lose anyone who might be following. Paranoia began to set in as she continuously glanced over her shoulder to scan for the officer who had spotted her - the question was, did he realise he was staring right at Vitalie Prokofiev? When Vitalie reached the beginning of Lower Sun Street, the time was 10:30, so she had half an hour to wait for her newest client. Sighing and leaning against a wall for a moment, the twenty-year-old paused to catch her breath before turning right into the alley scheduled for their meeting point. All that was left was to wait for Gruber to show up...


	3. Beginning of the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo Menschen!  
> Sorry about the delay in making this chapter - one of my drafts was deleted and I've got good plans set up for the many others I need to write, but I just find it hard to get into the mood to write them out. So thank you guys for being so patient. :) Hopefully Gruber is in character - feel free to let me know!  
> Love, Karla

While Vitalie's skin began to crawl with anticipation, time seemed to tick by as if struggling through quicksand. Her breath escaped in a soft plume as she attempted to warm her nearly numb fingers, stuffing them into her pockets when this failed. Eventually, thirty minutes came. As she rested against the unforgivingly cold brick alley wall, she suddenly heard boots crunching in the powder-fine snow - heart beginning to race, the possibility that whoever was approaching may not be Gruber dawned on her, therefore she drew her stolen Makarov from an inside pocket and held it steadily at chest-level. Although Vitalie rarely used guns, a shot would go mostly unnoticed in the neighbourhood she was currently in - an explosion of fire, however, would draw attention. In the last few seconds before the person turned the corner, her hand began to tremble ever so slightly. Praying that it wasn't an agent of the KGB, her finger curled lightly around the trigger and she inhaled deeply as the person rounded the corner. 

Sharply, Vitalie exhaled, not from relief, but surprise. A man had rounded the corner, unarmed as far as she knew. Swept back smoothly, his chocolate brown hair was lined with a lighter golden colour; deep hazel eyes sparked, as if inviting her to try to attack, whilst knowing he had the secret upper hand. His somewhat tanned skin was mostly smooth, however some lines were traced about his forehead and eyes, betraying his otherwise hidden age - Vitalie assumed that the man was about forty years old; two decades her senior. Despite this, he was undeniably attractive. When he spoke, his voice was a deep, suave baritone; the sound of it casued her toes to curl in her heavy boots. "Miss Prokofiev, I presume?" Although she was slightly aroused from his appearance alone, Vitalie did not allow this to cloud her judgement. Still directing the Makarov towards the man's chest, she nodded silently and replied, "And you? You are Mr. Gruber?" "Yes, I am Gruber. Hans Gruber." He answered, extending his right hand for her to shake. Lowering the pistol yet keeping a tight grip, Vitalie reached out hers to meet Hans'. His hold was firm and the hand was pleasantly warm and soft. Hazel eyes met grey as they released each other's hands; eye contact lingered a moment before Vitalie awkwardly looked away. "So, the reason why we are here," she began, "Before I can consider joining, I'll need the details about the job. All of them." Her heavy Russian accent, pale, angular face and coal-black curls were quite attractive, though Hans merely ignored this for the moment. Until he had formed a strong opinion of her, he would withold from making any sort of move towards her. After all, this was strictly business-related. For now, at least. "The pivotal aspect of the plan is that we are attempting to make this look like a hostage situation - as if we are terrorists. However, in reality, we are robbing the company of Nakatomi of six hundred million dollars in negotiable bearer bonds." He paused for a second to observe Vitalie's reaction so far - aside from her jet black eyebrows being raised sky-high, her expression remained stoic. "So the FBI will take the wrong approach, giving us - giving you more chance of success?" She stated more than asked. "Precisely." Hans smirked amusedly at her slip. "Now, to preoccupy them and give us more powerful defenses et cetera, I will be requiring more... advanced firepower. This is where you, Miss, come in." Pondering this, Vitalie wondered how much of the six hundred million Hans would offer her for her part in his grand plan. Once she asked this, Hans regarded her closely and replied, "Provided all goes to plan, and you remain loyal (of course), you shall receive forty million dollars in bearer bonds - that is enough to set you up for life. Considering how wisely you use it. Once the heist is completed, we may go our separate ways, and need never see or contact each other again. I believe this should be all the information you require at the moment." Gaze wandering to the ground, Vitalie turned Hans' proposal over and over in her turbulent mind. Although the offer certainly tempted her for reasons other than money, something inside held her back from making this decision right now. Therefore, she asked: "How long do you plan to stay in Moscow, Mr. Gruber?" "Five days, why do you ask?" "I may require some time to reach a final decision. Could we arrange another meeting for tomorrow... please?" The final word sounded alien to Vitalie, as she was unused to asking permission for anything. "Certainly, Miss Prokofiev. Same time tomorrow, in this alley." He answered, holding eye contact with her, awaiting her reply. "Fine. Goodbye, Mr Gruber." "Until tomorrow, Vitalie."


	4. No Strings Attached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo Menschen!  
> I've had many new ideas for fanfictions, and decided to write more often so that I can get them all done. Gets a bit steamy in this chapter, just a warning!  
> Love, Karla

As she sat motionlessly on her rickety single bed, Vitalie thought long and hard about the course of action she would take the next day. Hours melted away before her vacant gaze while she contemplated every aspect of her decision. What Gruber was offering was amazing - part of the six-hundred million dollars they were stealing in bearer bonds. Besides, working with him seemed like it would be an experience to say the least... although every time her mind wandered to the subject of how attractive Gruber was, the Russian pushed it back into the darker recesses of her mind. What she was being offered was a part of a heist greater than any she had heard of before, not an opportunity to gaze at Hans Gruber. In addition, the German man had told her that once this heist was complete, she need not take contracts ever again. On the other hand, Vitalie's deepest-set opinion was that money was worthless to her; the only worthwhile payment was the kick she got from watching the flames dance to her tune, the thrill of the chase. Furthermore, she had no idea what to do with such a large amount of money, but didn't want to be awkward by asking to forfeit the cash. Despite these facts, this was the largest heist she could ever be offered, and probably the most well-devised plan she had ever heard in her twenty years of life. Before long, the freezing temperature in her apartment became unbearable as night sank its ebony claws into downtown Moscow, so Vitalie crawled fully clothed under the covers as to protect herself somewhat from the leeching, biting cold. Although she was, as usual, exhausted from the day's events, the young woman drifted to sleep with her decision clear in mind. 

Morning dawned grey and crisp as ever, and Vitalie made herself an Espresso, running a hand through her hair, which looked as if it had been back-combed for a week. She sighed heavily, aware that the step she would take that day would be irrevocable - who knew what Gruber would do if she attempted to reconsider? Chugging the drink within seconds, she squared her shoulders with a grimace and rose to get dressed. Finally, after casting a brief glance at her reflection in her smudged, splintered mirror, Vitalie heavily exited the apartment to meet Hans and seal the deal. Although she was clothed in her thickest trench coat, the biting cold seemed to leech every inch of warmth from her shivering body. Twenty years of living in her heating-lacking apartment, it seemed, had done little for her resistance to the low temperatures. As she exhaled while striding to the alley (taking an alternative route to that of yesterday), her breath left her slightly chapped lips in a smoky plume. The fact that this could be her last week in Moscow before possibly getting seriously injured in this scheme of Gruber's weighed insistently on her mind. Despite his enticing appearance and the obvious effort he had already put into his plan, Vitalie was having trouble accepting her fate even as she rounded the corner of the street to find him waiting as agreed in the alley. "Miss Prokofiev, glad you could make it. The past few days must have been tiring for you." Greeted Hans, acknowledging her with a slight incline of his head. "Good morning, Mr. Gruber. You will be pleased to know that I have made my decision," after a brief pause, Vitalie continued, "I will take part in the Nakatomi Heist." Despite Hans' charming grin, the Russian's expression remained stoic - though she broke eye contact for a few secpnds to gaze almost sheepishly at the frosty ground. "Excellent! It shall be a pleasure working with you, Vitalie." After a second silence, she responded quite awkwardly: "Likewise... Hans. So, should I go and start collecting my equipment, or...?" "I would imagine we have a few more days until much preparation is necessary. If you hve no objections, perhaps we could spend some time... getting to know each other." These words (coupled with the older man's deep bass drawl) caused several impure thoughts to surface in her young mind, and so Vitalie cleared her throat and tried to seek shelter in her coat from an imaginary chill. Hans merely smirked, remembering that she was still young and these ideas of hers would still be rather novel. "Of course. Well, what would you like to do?" "A mere stroll would suffice for the moment, Vitalie."

Over the next few days, the pair had indeed got to know each other better, and had ventured to several of Moscow's more picturesque locations - ensuring that Vitalie's identity remained concealed, which proved to be easier said than done. "It will be much easier when we arrive in America." Hans had remarked when they had narrowly avoided the suspicions of a Politsiya officer. "Speaking of which, how is my equipment to reach America?" Vitalie commented, dearly hoping that Hans had a plan for this as well. "I have... acquaintances in the Moscow and New York airports; they will ensure your equipment passes unscathed." At this, Vitalie nodded, smirking slightly. "Is there anything you aren't prepared for, Hans?" In reply, he hummed and linked arms with her, invoking a raised eyebrow. "I don't believe so. You however, are a different story. There will be many occurrences in this heist which you will be unprepared for." He stated, hazel eyes glinting with a sly mischief. "Such as?" Questioned the younger woman with suspicion, eyebrows now raised sky-high. "This." Responded Gruber shortly, before lifting Vitalie's chin slightly, placing a hand at her waist and kissing her lightly. His touch made her skin crawl as her eyes dropped closed. As they parted, the pair locked gazes, the man's smirk broadening in amusement at Vitalie's blown pupils. Returning the devilish grin, her hand crept to the back of his head, suddenly pulling him back to her level to kiss him roughly. If Gruber felt any surprise, he did not reveal it to the younger woman, instantly responding and pulling her by the hips against his body. By this time, her cheeks were well and truly flushed, unfamiliar with the sensations. Much to her displeasure, the German man broke the kiss, in a tone far deeper than normal saying, "I will ask you this only once. Do you want this to go further?" Since Vitalie had never experienced anything remotely like this before, her knees grew weak, confidence draining away as if Hans had pulled a plug in her mind. However, she knew the mechanics. Besides, this man who had waltzed into her life around a week ago was one of a kind, she decided. Feeling more of a girl than ever, she uttered the final phrase: "Yes." 

For once, Vitalie could not feel the biting chill of her apartment - due to her certainness that Hans had been with much more voluptuous, more experienced women than herself, she had not at all expected him to hold her to his body once they finished, although the action was quite welcome. Coal black locks fanning out across his chest, she curled her bare body further into his, earning a hum of approval from Hans. "Do you sleep with every female associate of yours?" Vitalie questioned drily, only to receive a return question. "Posessive, are we?" The German smirked, running his hand down her ribcage. Before she could retort, she cringed as his hand brushed her right hip, and the uneven skin there. "What is it?" Hans asked, to which Vitalie pulled back the covers and ignited a lighter near the problem area. As he took in the sight, she could feel his relaxed muscles tense; grotesquely puckered and mottled was a burn scar, faded with time, disfiguring two thirds of the skin of her hip. "I was sixteen," The woman in question added, "It was early days, and an alcohol container leaked on my hip when I was making a Molotov. So... you can figure out the rest." Awkwardly, she explained to Hans, expecting him to leave her apartment and demand that she never wore low-rise jeans. Instead, he simply stroked along her hips as if the scar didn't exist. "You aren't embarrassed, then?" He questioned, taking her lighter and throwing it to the floor while dragging the covers back over them. "Am I so good at acting?" Vitalie replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. Shifting slightly, Hans wrapped his arms more tightly around the Russian, allowing her to rest her head under his chin. "The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance. Aristotle." He commented, causing the woman to snort in amusement at the array of quotations he seemed to posess for every situation. "Telling me I'm ugly, Gruber?" Vitalie smirked, raising her head to gaze at his remarkably carved visage. Chuckling deeply, Hans pulled her back to his body, answering, "Worse than Grendel." Ignoring her look of humour and confusion, he continued. "Now, it's late, we are both exhausted and tomorrow is Nakatomi. I suggest you sleep while you can." Nodding, Vitalie closed her eyes and after a few minutes, drifted to the calm ocean of sleep. Meanwhile, Hans contemplated what they had just done. Despite his growing affection for the young woman, he reassured himself that their tryst earlier was no act of love; that it had been out of lust, plain and simple. "This changes nothing, Prokofiev." He whispered, before joining her in slumber.


	5. Departing her Domain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo Menschen,  
> I'm probably going to focus on Feuer Frei! for the moment, since I'm going through some writer's block and have a lot to read also. At least until the next few episodes of Gotham come out. Watching Die Hard again really motivated me to get going (especially after last chapter!). Song: Fire, by Arthur Brown. Frohes neues Jahr!  
> Love, Karla

Streaming in through the unshrouded window, the piercing rays of the rising sun woke Vitalie far sooner than she would have liked. Evidently, she had woken before Hans, as he had not yet vacated her bed, which creaked ominously every so often, unused to the extra weight. Unwilling to wake him yet, she took the opportunity to savour the rare warmth and contact his body provided - lightly running her near-skeletal fingers over his toned, slightly tanned biceps and curling further into him. Initiating a growl from him, the young woman's actions prompted the gradually awakening Hans to subconsciously pull her tightly towards him and hold her in a vice-like grip. A grin spreading steadily across her face, Vitalie closed her eyes (although she did not entertain the hope of falling back to sleep). The all too real possibility of her dying in the upcoming heist dawned on her heavily and insistently, weighing on her chest like a boulder; besides, she could hardly expect to go to bed with Hans Gruber ever again, let alone relax in hazy bliss the morning after. From what she had inferred, the German man was certainly not the type to form attachments, who took what he wanted and made a smooth yet brutally fast exit, impervious to the damage it might cause. As if on cue, the man in question's eyelids rose to reveal the hazel eyes, tinged with gold which placidly observed the lazily reclining Russian in his arms. Instead of whispers of nothing to her, Hans instead enquired the time of the sighing girl, who complied with a heavy heart. To be honest, Vitalie didn't know what she expected of the man emotionally, yet she knew whatever it was would be far too much to ask for. She knew the boundaries, and for the first time found herself yearning to overstep them - for this was the first time she had allowed careless longing to weigh her heart and mind, and so resolved to cease the foolishness immediately. "What time is our flight?" She questioned, once showing him the time (ten A.M), voice slightly raspy from the previous night. While running a hand through his mussed hair, Hans replied, "Two P.M - you'd best begin to prepare." Taking the hint somewhat coldly, Vitalie rolled out of bed, unabashedly striding over to her cupboard to retrieve some underwear, jeans and a T-shirt before locking herself in her dingy bathroom. Meanwhile, Hans re-dressed in yesterday's clothes until he returned to his hotel suite where his other clean suits were stored and instructed Vitalie to meet him at the airport in the afternoon. Trusting she would be punctual, he left her apartment with a lingering sense of bitterness underlying his usual calm dominance.

Having re-checked her equipment for the umpteenth time, Vitalie had at last boarded the plane with Hans with little to no security issues, due to Hans' careful planning and sheer luck in some instances. Sitting together in a somewhat awkward silence, the older of the two decided to clear the matter which he could tell at a glance brewed in Vitalie's mind. As the plane took off, Hans explained, "It would be beneficial for you to accept that what we did changes nothing in our relationship - where I am concerned, at least. Where you imagined this to go is not an issue for either of us to be concerned about at the moment, so I suggest that you don't allow this to weigh on your mind tonight; unless of course you wish to risk your or one of the other's safety.". Ungracefully snorting at his statements, the Russian rolled her eyes and cast her cold gaze at the clouds outside as if she wished to set them on fire. What did he take her for? "Did I give you such an impression, Mr. Gruber? I don't recall mentioning my feelings about you as of yet, but if you wish for me to do so, I could give you a monologue about how irritating I find your attitude on the matter." Immediately she regretted phrasing her thoughts so brashly, a creeping nervousness seeping into her bones and gradually quenching the roaring fires within. After a few awkward seconds crawled by, Hans whispered to Vitalie in a voice as deep-cutting as steel, "You seem to have forgotten who is in charge, so I will remind you. Contrary to your present impression, you will respect and obey me further than any of your past clients. I hired you because of your discipline and attitude towards your work, and if this disappears due to something as basic as sex, then perhaps I made too rash of a decision." Instantaneously hitting home, his words made exactly the impact he desired upon the young woman. "Apologies, Hans. I will not allow my emotions to cloud my judgement again." With this, Hans appeared satisfied and seemed content to forget the incident (to Vitalie's relief). Silently, she removed a pocket notepad with her equipment list to revise it yet again - one could never be too careful - and also as a distraction from the icily calm atmosphere between them. It read: Flamethrower, Chlorine Tri-fluoride (10 PPM), C4 (200 sticks), Makarov pistol, 24 Incendiary bullets, RPG, Molotovs (4), Lighter, Detonators (200), NR-40. Peering over her shoulder, Hans nodded at the list, prompting Vitalie to comment hastily, "I know the Tri-Fluoride's risky, but it's the strongest chemical I posses." Looking warily at the older man for his approval, she snorted again at his response; in amusement rather than disdain. "Risks must be taken because the greatest risk in life is to risk nothing." Hans smirked at her slight embarrassed blush, as they alternated between conversing and resting for the remainder of the journey. 

Several hours later, the two had arrived in the subterranean car park, Hans' John Phillips suit immaculate, and were waiting for their transport, a Pacific Courier truck which would house Vitalie's equipment until unloading was necessary. According to Hans, the apparatus had passed through security unscathed; the detonators would be shared out among the men, and the C4 would be saved until necessary. Although reluctant to part with her best explosives, the Russian nodded in compliance. "I trust they know how to operate them?" She questioned, expecting Hans' answer while also hoping that she would not need to waste time tutoring them. "What do you take me for, Vitalie?" He replied cynically, just as the truck rumbled into the car park. From the passenger side, a blonde-haired man with wire-rimmed glasses descended to meet them. Completely ignoring Vitalie, he made straight for his employer, beginning to converse with him in their native German. "All is ready." Eyeing the stoic Vitalie coldly, he continued. "So this is the arsonist who's providing the firepower. I expected her to be older, more experienced -". "You will find, Tony, that Miss Prokofiev is perfectly adequate for the task at hand, so treat her as you would the others." Hans swiftly countered, inciting Tony to mutter under his breath about just how the young woman managed to seem 'perfectly adequate' as he returned to the truck. Uncaring about Tony's obvious disdain for her, Vitalie followed Hans to the back of the vehicle, the doors of which opened to allow them entry. Once the two were aboard, their journey to Nakatomi plaza began. Inside, thirteen men sat adjacent to a few crates which contained Vitalie's apparatus - one of which had been opened so that the men could divide the detonators and C4 between them - who observed their newest comrade. First to introduce himself was an enthusiastic young man named Theo, who explained that he would be dealing with cracking the locks to the Nakatomi safe. One by one, they gave their names, though only two seemed remotely interested in conversing further with the Russian. "You've met my brother, Tony," began Karl, whose long blonde hair fell in waves to his shoulders, "Do you use that Tri-fluoride often?" He enquired, sparking a long conversation about the properties of some of her chemicals and his previous heists, while the others chatted among themselves. Abruptly, music from the radio drowned out all the conversation when Theo cranked up the volume. Turning back from the wheel, he winked jovially at Vitalie as the chorus began. 'Fire, I'll take you to burn. Fire, I'll take you to learn. I'll see you burn...'. 


End file.
